Classic Poem

Art is a jealous mistress. Who will hold
My lady in his arms, must serve her long:
Yet must he follow her with footstep strong,
And woo her fickle heart with pleading bold.
If ever in fair arms he would enfold
The goddess, he must quit the noisy throng
And follow her the silent hills among, —
Marking far off her gleaming locks of gold.

A time shall come when by some lonely lake,
Some mountain-tarn, she shall look round at him:
And all the distant view shall seem to swim
In passionate tears as he doth fully take
My lady to his breast, and fully slake
Years of forlorn desire and yearning grim.